Cross My Heart
by lemonygoodness1998
Summary: Tristan Callaghan hates herself; she hates herself for causing her mother's miscarriage, for sucking at martial arts, and for not standing up for herself. Throw in that she has no idea who she is, an evil immortal, and a band of boys who think she's also a boy and you have a recipe for disaster. Can Tristan save Neverland when she still needs someone to save her from herself?
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

Tristan's POV

"You are such a fucking asshole!" I yelled at him, storming through the jungle in an effort to get back to camp. Pan just laughed behind me.

"I must say I never expected you to use such language," he snorted. My bitten-to-the-quick fingernails dug dangerously deep into the palms of my hands as I balled them into fists.

"I must say I never expected to meet my childhood hero," I huffed and whirled on him, "and find out he's a fucking asshole!"

He whipped out his dagger and pressed to my throat before I could blink.

"Are you asking me to kill you?" he growled menacingly, but I could see the ill-concealed amusement in his eyes.

"You won't kill me," I told him bluntly. "I entertain you. You don't know exactly what to make of me."

His grip on the dagger faltered momentarily.

"And how exactly do you figure that?" he asked.

"Lucky guess."

He glared at me, but lowered his dagger. I turned back around and started, huffing, back towards camp. Pan was silent until we saw the bonfire that indicated we had arrived.

"Boys!" he called. Immediately the horde of Lost Boys came racing from around the fire and from every nook of the forest, quickly coming to stand in a line at attention. Pan surveyed his regiment before snapping his fingers, indicating that the boys could be at ease. When the boys had slumped back to their normal postures their eyes drifted towards me.

"I never got the chance to formally introduce the newest member of the family," Pan sneered. "This is…"

"Tristan," I finished. "I've told you like five times now-"

"Silence!" he commanded me. I obeyed with an angrily-clenched jaw. "This is Tristan, and if he _behaves_ , he is going to be a Lost Boy."

The boys collectively inhaled.

"Are there any questions?"

It had been less than two days in Neverland and I was already looking for a way out.


	2. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Tristan's POV

I landed a bit too loudly on my feet, my bare sweaty soles squeaking against the padded blue vinyl flooring. My arms were crossed in front of my defensively, my left foot behind my right. All in all I thought I did pretty damn well.

"Again."

Or not.

I dropped my defensive stance and adjusted my gi, then leapt into the air and spun into a jump round kick. Once I landed, much more quietly this time, I waited for my sensei's approval.

"Again."

Fuck me.

I gritted my teeth and backed up, restraining myself from throttling my sensei.

This was tae kwon do practice, and this happened every night. I thought I did pretty damn admirably, at least compared to the other green belts (three goddamn years and I was still just a green belt!), but Mark Sensei thought otherwise. He sent me a dirty glare and nodded his head, indicating for me to repeat the move.

I narrowed my eyes and took a calming breath, letting everything leave my head. I was left with an eerie sense of calm as I reviewed everything sensei had taught me: keep your arms strong, bend at the knees, keep a strong core. Then, I jumped and swung my leg to the side, snapping my knee out and in with a crisp sound from the folds of my gi pants. When I landed I looked back to him for confirmation that I had done a good job. He merely looked at me.

"Sit down, Tristan. Let someone else have a turn. Maybe we can work on this after class."

I sighed and bowed, then dropped my head and went to sit cross-legged at the end of the line.

When class was over Sensei Mark approached me, putting a hand on my shoulder and turning me to face him.

"Why can't you get anything right?" he sighed. "Sorry, let me rephrase that. Why-"

"No need to rephrase," I said sharply. "I got the message. I don't need any sugar-coating."

"Very well," Sensei Mark said. "Follow me."

I followed him to the center of the room and assumed a defensive position at his request.

"Now I want you to keep your left leg tucked into you. That's what you're neglecting the most."

"What other things am I doing wrong?" I asked.

"Lots, but let's concentrate on this for now." I sighed but obeyed.

Leaping into the air once again I paid special attention to my left leg, tucking it up under my body while I snapped my leg out in a round kick. When I landed Sensei Mark nodded.

"Better, but not good. You're horrible at martial arts, even for a girl. I don't know why you even come here."

I knew I was horrible. He didn't have to tell me. I was even incapable of breaking a board, I was so weak. A part of me wanted to punch him, but an even bigger part of me just wanted to go home.

"Thank you, sensei," I said, "for being honest with me. I appreciate it."

"No problem, Tristan. It's time for you to leave. Your parents are probably here and I don't have any more time to waste on you."

I nodded and bowed, turning swiftly to the edge of the room to collect my sparring gear. When I reached my parents in the building's lobby they were waiting with smiles on their faces. I forced myself to smile back.

"How was practice, sweetie?" my mother asked.

"It was great!" I lied. "What has you two so happy?"

They looked at each other and smiled even wider.

"Well, you know we've been trying to have another baby," my father said.

"We're pregnant!" my mother exclaimed excitedly. I smiled for real this time. It filled me with joy to see my parents happy.

"That's great, mom!" I said, enveloping her in a hug. "I'm so happy for you."

"You're going to be a big sister, Tristan," my father said. "You should be happy for yourself, too."

"I am," I said. "I'm just happier for you two. I know you've been trying for a long time."

They smiled at each other again, my mother with tears of joy brimming in her eyes.

"Let's go home," my father said. "We have a lot to discuss."

When we got home the "a lot to discuss" was mostly my mother squealing in excitement, but a bit of discussion did get done: we decided that the guest room would be converted into the nursery; that good names for boys would be Jonathan, Carter, and Pieter; that good names for girls would be Lily, Iris, and Ridley. When our conversation over dinner was finished I scraped the plates and put them in the dishwasher, then went upstairs to my room.

Once in my room I peeled off my clothes to reveal my toned body, six-pack and all. It still baffled me how I could have a six-pack and arms of iron and still not be able to break a board. From what Sensei Mark had lead me to believe it was because I was just too weak. I made my way to my shower and scrubbed myself off, then put on a pair of loose pants and a shirt and crawled into bed, quickly falling into a deep but fitful sleep.


	3. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Tristan's POV

"Mom!"

She was there, lying at the foot of the stairs, obviously hurt. She clutched her stomach desperately.

"Tristan, go call 911!" she cried. "Please!"

In an instant the three of us were in a hospital room, my mother lying on the bed and my father and I sitting beside it. A doctor, Dr. Whale from his nametag, quietly slipped into the room and stood at the foot of my mother' bed, holding onto the bedframe with one hand and a clipboard with the other.

"I have some good news and I have some bad news," Dr. Whale said somberly. "The good news is that no lasting damage had been done to you, Mrs. Callaghan."

"What about the baby?" my mother asked quickly, desperately. Dr. Whale dropped his head.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Callaghan," he began, "but I'm afraid your fall down the stairs terminated the pregnancy."

My mother's eyes immediately filled with tears and her body was wracked with sobs.

" _My_ _baby_ ," she whispered through the tears. "My baby!"

My father clutched my mother's hand as he too began to cry. Dr. Whale left the room to give us some privacy, making me the only person in the room not crying.

I physically couldn't cry; I was too exhausted and too emotionally detached from the situation to cry. I got up and walked to my father, gripping his shoulder reassuringly.

"I'm gonna walk home," I said quietly. "It's not too far."

"Go with her, Erick," my mother sobbed.

"It's fine," I said quickly. "I'd like to be alone. And Storybrooke is pretty safe at night."

"Are you sure you don't want me to-"

I quickly interrupted my father.

"I said it's fine. Thank you, though. I'll see you later."

Walking out of the hospital doors I made my way down the sidewalk, doing my best not to plug in my headphones and drown out my sufferings with my music. I couldn't turn to music forever.

As I walked down Storybrooke's main drag I watched my feet move down the pavement, not giving a damn who I passed or where I was actually going. Because of that I felt myself collide with something, sending me stumbling back several steps. Looking up I noticed it was Mr. Gold I had run into while he was locking up his shop.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Gold," I apologized. "I wasn't looking where I was going and-"

"It's fine, Tristan," he said. "What are you doing out at this time of night?"

I told him about the baby, and my mother falling down the stairs, and the miscarriage, and how I was just heading home from the hospital.

I was closer to Mr. Gold than most people; it had started the summer before my thirteenth birthday when I had been enlisted to help him in his shop for the summer. He had told me the stories behind each object in his shop and little vignettes from his childhood, and I, in turn, had supplied him with corny jokes and scavenged objects from various flea markets or from some undiscovered nook in my attic. Since then I had helped him with his shop every summer.

He let out a sympathetic sound from between his teeth.

"That's a rough lot," he said. "Do you need me to walk you home?"

"No," I said. "I need to be alone right now. But thank you for listening, Mr. Gold."

"Any time, Tristan," he replied. He turned to walk home, leaving me alone in the streets of downtown Storybrooke.

When I reached my house I fished my keys from my back pocket and unlocked the front door, slipping in and not turning on the lights. I got myself a bottle of water from the fridge and carefully climbed the stairs, not eager to meet the same fate as my mother. And then I saw it.

A single dirty shirt lying on the middle step.

One of _my_ shirts.

I fell down to my knees and picked up the shirt. Sure enough the imprint of my mother's sliding foot was visible in the carpet covering the step.

I still couldn't cry, even though I now knew that the miscarriage was my fault.

Just then the door opened and closed. I heard my father's footsteps and sniffles echoing throughout the dark house.

"Tristan?" he called. "Where are you?"

I could hardly speak, so I was surprised when I was able to calmly call out my location without so much as a voice crack. When my father stood at the foot of the stairs, seeing me on my knees with a shirt in my hand, his eyes widened.

"Is that…?" he trailed. I nodded solemnly.

"She slid on it and then tripped over her own feet trying to right herself."

Another bout of sobs shook my father's shoulders and he covered his mouth with his hand, not eager to let me see just how much this affected him. He turned around and sat on the bottom step. I leaned against the wall and held my knees in my arms.

Once he was done crying he whipped his whole head around and glared at me.

" _You_ ," he growled.

"Dad?"

"Don't call me that!" he screamed. "My child died tonight!"

"I _am_ your child."

"No you're not!" He was suddenly in front of me, planting a solid kick in my side. "You're not my child! No child of mine is a murderer!"

I knew what was happening. He couldn't bear the sadness anymore, so he converted it to anger; and who better to be angry at than me, the person who caused his unborn son or daughter's demise?

So I let him hit me.

When he was done I was bruised and bleeding, but the words were what stung the most. "Worthless," "useless," "stupid," "evil," "murderer." He left me on the stairs to rot, trudging back down to his room, utterly exhausted. When I was sure he was gone I pulled myself off the ground and, after finding that I miraculously had no broken bones, drug myself to my bathroom to clean myself off. Once clean I fell asleep on my bathroom floor, still incapable of crying.


	4. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Tristan's POV

He continued to beat me. This went on for several days while my mother was still in the hospital. Neither of us, my father and I, were sure why she was being kept for so long; all Dr. Whale had told us was that he had found something unexpected and needed to run some tests. That Thursday we finally found out what he meant.

"You have cancer."

My mother was crying again, my father was crying again, Dr. Whale was leaving again, and I was numb again, incapable of crying. No one had noticed my bruises.

During the ultrasound to check up on the baby Dr. Whale had found what appeared to be a tumor. After several more ultrasounds and several blood tests he concluded that she had ovarian cancer, meaning that my unborn brother or sister wouldn't have survived anyway. That wasn't lost on my father, who immediately hugged me and thanked me for getting her to the hospital before it got any worse.

I shrugged out of his embrace with a wince; he was pressing up against a bruised rib.

"Don't thank me, Dad," I said gruffly. "I still killed your child."

"Sweetheart, it was an accident," my mother said from her hospital bed. "You're not a murderer."

"Thank you. I'm gonna go home now," I said quickly, not really believing her. "Don't feel obligated to follow."

Without so much as a goodbye I left, walking through the main automatic doors and out onto the street. Looking both ways before I crossed the street, I headed home.

"Tristan!" a voice called from behind me. I whirled around to see Sensei Mark walking towards me. I sighed but didn't move. "Why haven't you been coming to your classes?"

So now he was worried about me?

"Long story short my mom had a miscarriage and now she has cancer," I said.

"That's gotta be tough," he said sympathetically.

"Yeah, it is. And now I'm tired. So I'm going home," I said tersely. "Good night, sensei."

"Wait, Tristan," he said, grabbing my wrist and preventing me from leaving. "Do you need me to walk you home? It's pretty late."

"What is it with people and walking me home?" I asked, jerking my arm from his grasp. "I'm fine. Thank you, sensei."

"Are you sure? And what happened to your face?"

"Since when are you so worried about me?" I snapped at him. "What happened to 'I can't waste any more time on you?' You know what? Never mind. I don't want an answer."

With that I turned away and headed home.

When I finally got home I locked myself in my room and did several sets of sit-ups and took a shower, then slipped on a pair of shoes and went into the hall. I stopped under a square in the ceiling with a string hanging from it, pulling the string and forcing the trap door open. A ladder descended from the ceiling, its feet landing directly in front of me in a flurry of dust.

Completely wooden with a peaked ceiling and a large window at the front, the attic was the perfect place to think. As I reached the top of the ladder I looked around at the dust-covered furniture and trunks and old paintings, the mirrors covered with sheets and bookcases filled with antique trinkets. I pulled another string in the ceiling and a light turned on. Walking over to one of the bookshelves I gazed at all the trinkets, making up stories for each one, trying to take my mind off of reality. There was a mercury-glass back to one of the bookcases, casting a reflection of my bruised face back at me. I cringed.

Oddly enough there was only one book in the bookcases – my favorite, Peter Pan. I picked it up and took it to the only dustless piece of furniture in the attic, a small bed which sat in front of the window. Sitting down on the springy mattress I propped myself up on some pillows and then cracked open the book to a dog-eared page. But I soon realized that I was unable to read it; no matter how hard I tried my eyes skipped to the beginning of the same sentence. I placed the book face down on the mattress and looked out the window.

The stars were especially bright that night, looking like great globs of white paint against the black canvas of the sky. A huge solitary tree stood just outside the window and its branches reminded me of prison bars.

I looked back to the book that lay on the mattress, but I didn't look _at_ it. I looked _through_ it, back to that world that didn't exist.

If there were tickets to Neverland I would have sold my soul for one.

"Snow!"

"Charming!"

Mary Margaret and David ran toward each other, catching each other in their arms and leaning in for a passionate kiss. I was at an utter loss. Seriously. What the hell?

I stood on the sidewalk in downtown Storybrooke, where several people were holding their heads and looking around. There were names heard everywhere, called into the sky, said into a cell phone. I seemed to be the only one not experiencing some kind of revelation.

And then it hit me.

It was only for a moment, but I suddenly crashed into a vision of a gorgeous island covered in a vibrant green jungle. There were boys in cloaks running through the jungle at ridiculous speeds, jumping over raised tree roots and howling with laughter. The boys broke through the line of trees at the edge of the jungle and were suddenly on a white-sand beach with an impossibly blue ocean stretching out before them.

I blinked and it was gone.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I fished it out, quickly pressing the "answer" button when I noticed it was from my mother.

"Mom, is everything okay? There's some weird stuff happening out here-"

"Do you not remember?" she interrupted.

"Remember what? Mom, you're scaring me."

"Who you are. The curse has been broken! We're free!"

"You're not making any sense! Are you sure you're alright?"

"Just come to the hospital," she said after a moment. "I'll explain everything."

When I arrived at the hospital I was rushed to my mother's room. I couldn't help but notice the shouts of rapture as others supposedly regained their memories. I burst into my mother's hospital room to find both of my parents sitting up, my mother in her bed and my father in a chair.

"What's going on, guys?" I asked. "I have no idea what you were talking about."

"Sit down, sweetie," my father said, patting the chair beside him. I flinched at the nickname but did as he asked.

My mother explained everything to me. Everything about the curse, everything about the evil queen, everything about how she and my father were actually Joanna and Dirk, better known as Mama Bear and Papa Bear.

"Is this your idea of a joke?" I spat. "Because it's not remotely funny."

"How dare you talk to your mother like that!" my father shouted. My mother calmed him with not so much as a touch on his arm.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I said. "It's just… It sounds so impossible."

"There's another thing," my mother said.

"What is it?"

"You're not our child."


	5. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Tristan's POV

"What do you mean I'm not your child? You raised me!" I said.

"Baby Bear was a boy," my mother said, rubbing her vacant abdomen, a few tears welling up over her waterlines. "We don't know exactly who you are."

"I'm Tristan Callaghan, Mom. Your daughter."

"We may consider you to be our daughter, and we love you dearly," my father said. I flinched again. "But you're not actually biologically ours."

"You're adopted."

"Haven't you ever wondered why you don't look like us?"

My father was right. I looked nothing like my parents. While they both had light hair and light eyes, I had dark eyes and even blacker hair. While my parents were tall, I was regrettably short. While my parents were golden tanned, I was pale and pasty.

"And you just decided to drop this on me now?" I laughed humorlessly.

"We're just surprised you didn't know it after the curse was lifted," my mother said.

After a moment of silence, I said:

"So you really don't know who I am?" My parents shook their heads.

"Did you not feel anything when the curse was lifted?"

I recounted my vision to them, and they came up with no ideas between the two of them.

"Henry Mills has been telling anyone who would listen about the curse from the day he turned seven. You might ask him," suggested my father. I nodded dumbly.

"I'm gonna… go do that," I said finally.

Getting up and leaving the room I passed several more people who were laughing wildly, elated at the return of their memories. On the street even more people were dancing in the streets.

And, just my luck, I ran into Mr. Gold.

"So," I said calmly. "Who are you?"

He turned around and smiled slightly at me, retracing his steps so he could walk beside me.

"Rumpelstiltskin," he said as if he were observing the weather. I sighed.

"You knew the whole time, didn't you?"

He let out a soft laugh.

"Yes. I knew."

"I guess I know why you didn't tell anyone," I said. "There would have been no proof." He nodded. "How many others knew?"

"Just Regina," he told me. "And Henry."

"How did Henry ever figure it out?"

"The world may never know, dearie."

We walked in silence for a few minutes before I mustered the courage to ask.

"Do you know who I am?"

He stopped in his tracks and looked at me.

"You don't know who you are?" I shook my head. "That's not how the curse works. The moment it's broken you remember."

"Well obviously not. Because I don't remember."

"I don't know exactly what to make of this."

My house wasn't especially far from downtown Storybrooke, so we were there by the time Mr. Gold discovered I had no recollection of my identity. I stood awkwardly by my front gate, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.

"Would you… like to come in?" I asked, gesturing to the gate.

"If it's not too much of an imposition," he said.

In a moment he was sitting at my kitchen table while I struggled with the coffee maker. It was nearly impossible to press the tiny buttons with my shaking fingers. I tried to place a mug under the spout but ended up dropping it on the tile floor, shattering it into a million pieces.

" _Shit_ ," I swore, flinching at the loud crash. I knelt down to pick up some of the larger pieces.

"Where do you keep your broom, dearie?" Mr. Gold asked.

"Cupboard directly across from the door. Hanging up on the right."

He was back with the broom before I could blink, sweeping the remaining tiny shards into a dustpan which I held tremblingly against the floor. Once the dustpan was full I picked it up and dumped its contents into the trash can, grabbing onto the counter and leaning against it when I was done.

"Tristan, are you alright?" he asked.

"No, I'm not fucking alright!" I yelled, flinging the dustpan to the ground in a flurry of hands and hair. I tried to calm myself down, but I was shaking too damn hard. "I just found out I'm living in a town full of fairy tale characters and it doesn't change a goddamn thing! My mom still has cancer, I still don't know who I am, my unborn sibling is still dead on my account, and my father-"

I stopped myself.

"Your father what?" Mr. Gold prompted.

"Nothing," I said, turning away from him and picking up the dustpan. "I shouldn't have invited you in. I'm sorry. You should leave."

"Is that what's been happening to your face?"

"I said leave!"

He hesitated for a moment, then spoke.

"If you ever need anything you can just call."

And he left.


	6. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Tristan's POV

I hadn't slept in days and I still couldn't cry.

A pitch black sky dotted with pinprick stars and a full moon were my backdrop as I plunked away at the dusty piano in the attic. I had one hand on the keys and one hand in my lap, not really looking at what I was doing; instead, I looked out at the sky and searched for the second star to the right. I suddenly came to the conclusion that J. M. Barrie's Peter Pan was full of bullshit – who decided the grid that divided right from left? Who decided at what level the second star was?

I managed to pick out a tune on the piano and I brought my other hand to the keys, adding little chords here and there until I had the decent beginnings of a song. That was when I stopped and got up, going to the bookcase where I kept Peter Pan. Picking up the book and going to the bed, I propped myself up on a couple of pillows and tried to read a passage, but I found that I was too distracted to read. Looking back up at the moon, I pictured my silhouette crossing its yellow-tinged surface.

I was living in a town of fairy tale characters, all of whom had recently rediscovered their true identities, and I was _still_ the odd one out. Go fucking figure.

I suddenly found myself pulling on my shoes and jacket and heading down the ladder with _Peter Pan_ in tow. I snuck over to the front door and left, pressing the book against me so it wouldn't fall out of my pocket.

I couldn't take not knowing, so I went to find the only person I knew, or thought, would be able to help me: Henry. He was the one always telling us about the curse, about how Mary Margaret was Snow White and Emma was the Savior; he had to know who I was, and he had to know why I had had that strange vision.

I eventually reached Henry's house and hopped the fence, keeping low to the shadow-blackened ground to avoid detection. There was a single light on upstairs, a light which illuminated the figure of Henry sitting up in his bed. I scaled the trellis on the side of the house and, after mustering up the courage, knocked on the window.

He was opening his window in an instant, eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Tristan?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

"I… have some question to ask you. About the curse."

He nodded his head in understanding and stepped aside motioning for me to climb in. I did and stood awkwardly in front of the window, hands shoved in my pocket and eyes trained on the ground.

"What did you want to ask?" Henry asked me.

"You know how with the curse the moment it's broken you remember everything?" He nodded. "That didn't happen to me."

His eyes widened.

"You don't know who you are," he said in shock. "That's not supposed to happen."

"So I've been told. Instead of remembering everything I had a… vision, of sorts."

"What did it look like?"

I described to him the leafy green island with white-sand beaches and a throng of boys racing through the jungle. He nodded knowingly.

"Neverland," he said.

My heart gave a painful throb at the sound of the word and I was suddenly plunged into another vision, this one of what I could only describe as a lagoon filled with mermaids. The vision suddenly shifted to show a pirate ship anchored in the sea near the island's shore.

"Tristan?"

I was shaken from my trance by a pair of small hands on my shoulders. I instantly shook my head and widened my eyed, suddenly back in Henry's bedroom.

"What was I doing in Neverland?" I asked.

"I don't know," he admitted. "It's very strange, considering the fact that you're-"

"Henry?"

Both of us looked at each other. Regina's voice and footsteps could be heard outside the door.

"Yes, mom?" he called back, quickly ushering me into his closet and shutting the door.

"Who were you talking to?" she asked, her voice muffled by both the closet door and the door to Henry's bedroom.

"Myself," Henry answered. "I was talking myself through a math problem."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, mom."

A distinctive squeak told me that Regina had opened his bedroom door and was now talking to him directly. I backed myself into the far corner of the closet behind several racks of clothes.

"Then where's your homework?" she asked suspiciously.

"I put it up. I'm finished with it."

She gave a sigh and spoke again.

"I'm sorry, Henry. I just heard a voice and…"

"It's okay, mom. I understand."

After a few more exchanged words the bedroom door clicked closed and I released a breath I hadn't known I had been holding. Henry opened the closet door and I brushed past him.

"How do I get to Neverland?" I asked in a whisper.

"You just have to say 'I believe' or write it down somewhere," he whispered back. "But I wouldn't-"

Footsteps resounded outside the door once again and we both froze. When they finally receded with let out large breaths.

"I should go," I said. "Thank you, Henry"

"But I still haven't told you – "

I was out the window before Regina could walk in again.


End file.
